


Buckle Up, We're Going For A Ride

by AdelineAround



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Bottom Kieran, Canon Compliant, Consensual Sex, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm, Prostate Massage, Top Arthur, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 04:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17542301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdelineAround/pseuds/AdelineAround
Summary: “Why’re you here, boy?” he slurs, the word boy being drawn out like “boah” in his Midwestern accent. “Thought you was goin’ on your way once you knew I was back in camp.” He keeps his voice low, almost as if he were out hunting, ready to aim at his prey: a deer dubbed Kieran.“How did you…” He pauses. “I- I’m sincerely sorry, mister,” Kieran begins to say as soon as Arthur looks at him expectantly for an answer. He fiddles with the clothing, still hanging off his lithe body. “You was sleepin’ and I just thought… I guess, I dunno what I been thinking. But I swear, I dun’ mean nothin’ by this. I promise—”In which Arthur catches Kieran in the midst of trying out his things, and makes him pay for it in return.





	Buckle Up, We're Going For A Ride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raaawrbin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raaawrbin/gifts).



> This is a happy birthday fic for my sis [Robin](https://www.twitter.com/raaaawrbin/).  
> Kieran Duffy and Arthur Morgan own my life now because of her and our friend.

He had been drinking.

He had been drinking a whole lot.

He had been drinking a whole lot, from noon to dusk, and still Arthur Morgan felt as though he had room for one more.

Arthur gets himself back to camp in one piece by the grace of God Almighty, prodding his heel to his horse gently as they trot onto friendly grounds. The sun has long since gone down now, everything shrouded in a dusting of cobalt called night. The beer bottle in his hand is empty now; one for the road, he claimed, would do him good. It caused Arthur’s euphoric buzz to hold steady, keeping the edges of his vision slightly warped. Everything seems to move around him so quickly, so smoothly, like he is suspended in a lake full of clear water whilst life continues as it always has. The malty taste of hops in his mouth remind him of hot, summer days that he can reminisce about in his drunken stupor. The alcohol makes his blood course hot under his skin and through his veins, adding to the nostalgia he feels for that sunny season.

It is a miracle Arthur dismounts his horse without losing his balance or landing on his side. He throws aside the beer bottle into a thicket of grass after, as he might not get but a penny candy if he returned a whole twelve-pack of empty beer glasses to be crushed into cullet, re-fired and recycled by the town up north. In essence, it is not worth collecting empty glass bottles for a piece of pulled taffy.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Arthur turns to find Micah approaching him with a dumb little smirk on his moustache-clad face. How he cannot _stand_ the man. They have never gotten along, not even after all the times Dutch had Arthur and Micah work together as a heist team. Micah Bell, well, annoys Arthur to all get out.

Arthur sighs too melodramatically for his own taste, no thanks to the booze running rampant within him, “What d’you want, Micah?”

He squares his jaw and balls his hands into fists. If he has to brawl, then at least he will be ready.

Micah, however, is as thick-skulled as ever. Picking up on social cues was never his strong suit.

“Nothin’, nothin’, cowpoke,” he puts his arms up in mock surrender. When Arthur grits his teeth at the degrading nickname, Micah sneers, “You alright, there, feller? Ain’t got yourself in any… trouble, have ya?”

He waves a hand in front of Arthur’s face for good measure.

“Aw, go to hell,” Arthur retaliates verbally. “All you ever do is ride your jokes at someone else’s expense. Ain’t you done messin’ around with me yet?”

“What are you talkin’ ‘bout?” Micah guffaws, though in the most cheesy way, “I never done did anythin’ like that.”

Arthur hums. “And I never done shot no one before,” he chuffs. He is too tired for Micah’s shit; too drunk and too fed up for a fight. “Now, outta my way. I been done talkin’ with you.”

He shoves past, only briefly hearing Micah’s grumble of disapproval. Arthur does not care. Let Micah have his temper tantrum because, in the end, Arthur is not going to be the one paying the consequences. Instead, Arthur sways as he walks back to his tent, groaning as he finally reaches his cot.

Oh, home sweet temporary home.

The cot, as lumpy as it may be, is absolute heaven to Arthur’s poor, aching back. He sinks into it, groaning as he does. How nice it feels to finally rest, when usually he is on the run. Either he is finding a way to assist others, or following Dutch into one of his crazy shenanigans. When he gets a chance to rest, he will rest, but he will never say he sleeps. Sleeping is for the dead, he thinks, and he will sleep when he finally gets dug into the grave.

Arthur does not realize that he has dozed off on his cot until he hears a familiar voice just outside of his peripheral range.

“He’s back, isn’t he,” the voice says. “Arthur’s back. He’s here, I saw his horse tied up by that tree, next to the front of the clearin’. Won’t ya tell me you’ve seen Arthur ‘round?”

“Aw, quit your yappin’,” That is Mary-Beth talking now. Arthur has no doubt about it. “Micah was the greeting party a couple hours ago. Why don’t you ask him, Kieran?”

Ah, so Kieran was looking for him. Arthur turns to his side, exhaling long and deep.

“But Micah’s all gone to bed,” argues Kieran.

Mary-Beth keeps her voice hushed, as to not wake any others. “As am I, Kieran. As almost this entire site is! I ain’t debatin’ with you if Arthur came back tonight. Go find out for yourself. You know where his sleepin’ place is.”

She stalks off to her own tent, obviously ready to take her hair down for the night and get some shut-eye.

Kieran Duffy, always ever so curious about people’s whereabouts. Arthur is no exception. In fact, it seems like Kieran has taken a sort of… interest, for a lack of better terms, to Arthur after he has caught him up in the mountains. He is comparable to a newborn foal, always wandering and following the man around whenever he is in camp. He even saved Arthur during that ambush at the old O’Driscoll hideout, overly excited that he had rescued Arthur in the nick of time. Yet, Kieran still keeps his distance, gazing at Arthur from afar, never too close to him in case Arthur decides to antagonize him. In a way, it gives Kieran that innocent air to him, as if he has never really lived his life to its fullest in the double-digit odd something years he has survived on this damned earth. To Arthur, it makes Kieran almost _cute_.

Almost.

That is the key word. Not cute; _almost_ cute.

Arthur groans. The worst of the alcohol must be talking if he finds Kieran anything cute. But, the more his mind consciously dwells upon the man, Arthur soon convinces himself that maybe, just maybe, the ex-O’Driscoll really is fascinating.

He hears footsteps coming towards his part of camp. They are timid and narrow, walking from toe to heel instead of the other way around. It reminds Arthur of a hare, or a bunny rabbit that grazes the grass in search of the sweetest growth and flowers. He knows the pattern of that walk, and it is no woman who is coming to see him.

Arthur takes a dare to squint, a lone blue eye trained at the front of his tent. He makes out Kieran’s shadow in the dim light, thankful that the campfire in the middle of the grounds is still burning low, yet bright enough where he can still see in the middle of the pitch black night.

He shuts his eyes as soon as Kieran approaches Arthur’s cot cautiously. It is better to pretend he is asleep than to let Kieran know he has been watching him this whole time.

Half of him expects Kieran to leave after a few short seconds, but the other wishes that Kieran would stay and watch him “snooze” for just a little longer. Kieran has never posed a threat to him, not even when Bill and Micah have told Arthur multiple times that Kieran poses a threat to the camp’s safety. And, perhaps, if Arthur can get a closer look at the man, he can discern whether or not Kieran is cute in his terms of taste.

There is more shuffling, the sound getting closer and closer to where Arthur lies, “sleeping” on his cot. Anticipation crawls under his skin like inching mealworms. His fingertips jitter slightly from it, from his nerves going haywire as he figures Kieran is leaning over him, looking at him while he pretends to be unconscious. And, oh, if Kieran were to reach out and touch him even once, Arthur is sure that he would have no issues with that. In the confines of his trousers, Arthur’s cock twitches once at the possibility.

Or maybe Arthur does not mind because he is drunk, and being drunk makes him crave physical touch. Would one go as far and say he wants physical affection, as well? Arthur would say no but, the more he tries to think about it, the less cohesive his thoughts are.

“Mister…” Kieran whispers, but Arthur keeps his eyes closed, waiting out however long this one-sided interaction will be.

It is quiet, save for Arthur’s controlled, slowed breathing and Kieran’s quicker one until the ex O’Driscoll starts to move again. Is he going through Arthur’s things? But the sounds he makes are nothing like fumbling with Arthur’s shaving tools, clothing trunk or satchel with backup provisions and ammo inside. Instead, it sounds like fabric ruffling, a _belt buckle_ being unclasped and pulled open; a shirt being untucked from the waist of Kieran’s pants.

Just what the hell is this kid up to? Curiosity nibbles on the edges of Arthur’s attention span, eating away at it like a sweet-toother does chocolate. He knows he would spook Kieran if he woke up now, but he cannot find it in him enough to care about the man’s reaction. He needs to know what is going on, for it is not everyday that someone stands above him while he is supposedly asleep. So open his eyes, Arthur does.

And is hit in the face with an actualization of the scene unfolding before him so naive, that he almost feels a little guilty.

Kieran has just put on one of Arthur’s spare hats, his own lying on the shaving table. It is slightly too big for him, tilted sideways to keep on the man’s head while he jimmies his belt off in place for Arthur’s bigger, gold buckle ones; the one he managed to earn back before Blackwater. He has to tighten it to the very last notch, as he is so slim that Arthur’s possessions make him look like a boy with a beard glued to his face. Arthur’s winter jacket goes around Kieran’s frame next, almost swallowing him whole. It acts more like a scandalously short dress than outerwear, adding to the factor Arthur calls _cute_.

Arthur gulps, ocean-blue eyes taking in Kieran in all of his clothing. He hopes that he is not caught peeking, but Kieran is sharp and young, and he notices almost right away.

A gasp elicits from Kieran’s chapped lips, a hot flush over his cheeks visible even in the feeble light. His mouth stays slightly open, gaping before he tries to come up with what might be an apology. Arthur cannot tell for sure; Kieran is already trying to wrestle the clothes off his figure, stuttering through it the entire time.

Arthur is not sober enough to figure out what the man is saying. He sits up, putting a finger to his lips as he swings his legs off the cot so he may stand. He means to shush Kieran this way, which works, as the man begins to quiet, eyes going wide as he realizes how big Arthur really is in comparison. The cowboy is like an elk compared to Kieran’s petite rabbit-like form.

“Why’re you here, boy?” he slurs, the word boy being drawn out like “boah” in his Midwestern accent. “Thought you was goin’ on your way once you knew I was back in camp.” He keeps his voice low, almost as if he were out hunting, ready to aim at his prey: a deer dubbed Kieran.

“How did you…” He pauses. “I- I’m sincerely sorry, mister,” Kieran begins to say as soon as Arthur looks at him expectantly for an answer. He fiddles with the clothing, still hanging off his lithe body. “You was sleepin’ and I just thought… I guess, I dunno what I been thinking. But I swear, I dun’ mean nothin’ by this. I promise—”

Arthur is barely listening, though. The pained expression upon Kieran’s face contorts the man’s face in the best of ways. It accentuates those worried eyebrows above clear, sea-like emerald eyes like cross-stitch upon an already beautiful medium. Those same eyes look like they are watering at all times, like the man is about to cry whenever Arthur directs attention on him. The way his nostrils flare when he is talks about his interests adds to the definition of cute. His feet shuffle from side to side, knees almost knocking together from how terribly sorry he is.

Arthur groans as he feels a streak of arousal curl in the pit of his belly.

“Shut up, boy,” he gruffs, cutting the man short in the midst of his apology. “And take all that off.”

He gestures at Kieran’s getup.

Then, he is pulling the tent’s tabs away, the privacy flaps towards the top of his humble abode rolling down like crisp, freshly laundered sheets hung out to dry. It barely keeps out the campfire light, but that is just fine by Arthur; all the better to see Kieran with. If anything, the flaps will keep them from prying eyes of onlookers, like Charles and Miss Grimshaw, who always wake earlier than any of the other Van der Lindes. He is thankful that he had installed it, especially for a time like this. Who would have known having a little privacy shield would come in handy?

“Uh, sure,” Kieran manages to mumble, clearly surprised that Arthur is courteous enough to shroud them from the public eye while he changes out of Arthur’s clothing.

The jacket goes first, being hung back on a makeshift coat rack. After that, it is the hat, put on top of Arthur’s clothing chest. He bites his lip, avoiding Arthur’s gaze, but it is prevalent that the cowboy is watching him. Kieran best put back his belongings in the correct place. He does not know what is going through Arthur’s head, but feels overly self-conscious as he undresses.

Finally, the belt is taken off. He undoes the buckle, sliding it out of the belt hoops of his trousers. It is the only thing holding up his pants, however, and Kieran grasps at his bottoms before they can sag around his slight hips.

“Here,” he hold out the belt to Arthur, treating it somewhat like a snake that is prone to biting. “Take it. I never meant to seem like I was robbin’ you under yer nose.”

Arthur, however, looks at the belt in Kieran’s hand, mind instantly reeling with imagination. Here Kieran is, ashamed for being caught, holding out Arthur’s belt while struggling to keep his own pants up. Is this all a facade? A mirage that his mind is playing on him? Kieran looks so miserably desperate, so unguarded here. His groin stirs again in the confines of his own pants.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” he hears himself saying, but his mind is trained on taking that belt from Kieran. He feels the weight of it in his hands, the fabric sturdy enough if he twisted it into a knot. “But you know that trespassing is nothing to be excused, right, boy?”

Kieran’s fingers dig into the waistband of his trousers. He realizes he did wrong. “Yes, sir,”

“And you know that Van der Lindes don’t let anyone go without repayment,” The belt grows heavier in Arthur’s hands as he pulls it taught, like he is inspecting it for any damage. He lays it on the bed to be used later.

Kieran hangs his head, almost in shame. “Yes, mister.”

If Arthur was not so driven by his lust, he would have squashed down his urge to tease the man. However, as the circumstances are, he cannot help it, too damn compromised to stop now.

“Come here.” He motions for Kieran to come to the side of the bed, right in front of Arthur.

Kieran starts, “Arthur, I…”

“Even if you didn’t steal nothing, you ain’t being let off, Kieran. Now, I could call it even an’ let you go, since you saved me the other day an’ all that, but you wouldn’t’ve learn no lesson,” Arthur warns. “So, either you repay me, or I tie you to a tree just outside my tent like the old days. Which one sounds better, huh?”

A visible shiver runs through Kieran as Arthur gives him two options. Clearly, he does not want either, but Kieran is not in charge here. He bites at his lower lip, nervous as hell in the cowboy’s presence.

“Answer me, boy,” Arthur says, eyes keen on Kieran. “What’s it gonna be?”

“Jesus, okay,” swears Kieran. “Okay, I’ll repay you. I’m sorry, I promise. I never done meant no harm.”

He is caving in on himself, anxiety getting the better of him in an unexpected predicament; Arthur is sure of it. Kieran is so cute when he talks like that.

“Quiet,” Arthur snaps and, much to his satisfaction, Kieran does hush up. “And come here, like I said before you started goin’ off on me.”

He waits, more patient this time, and waits for the man to squawk in denial, but Kieran waddles over until he is standing hunched and flighty before Arthur. His eyes flit back and forth between the bed and the cowboy himself, Kieran’s front incisors still worrying his poor, chalky lips.

Arthur hums appreciatively at Kieran’s obedience. Maybe this is why the wretched Colm O’Driscoll kept Kieran around for so long. He is such a good sport once he is shut up. It was a good thing Dutch let the man stay after saving Arthur’s life when they ambushed the O’Driscoll camp. Now, here he is, standing in front of Arthur, who could have his way with cute ol’ Kieran at this- whatever time of night it was- moment.

“Let go of those pants, boy,” Arthur growls low. “You won’t be needin’ them right now.”

Kieran is clearly confused, embarrassed, but he knows better than to refuse Arthur’s request. Slowly, he peels his fingers from his trousers, letting them drop to the ground in a puddle of rough fabric.

“My… do you want my underwear off, too?” he asks quietly, hands paused at his briefs.

If Arthur was not already horny, he would have been sprung now.

“I want it all off,” Arthur nods. “I want to see you as bare as the day you were born.”

With haste, Kieran bites the bullet and peels his undergarment away, stepping out of his bottom clothing. He moves onto his shirt next, shucking it from his body and the rest of his things until all that remains is Kieran in the buff. He wraps his arms around his torso, almost as if to shield his nudity in an ineffective way.

Kieran is beautiful, as scrawny and frail as he is. Arthur thinks he would look even better with some more meat and fat on his bones, but what he has to work with is not horrible. Kieran is far from horrible. In fact, Arthur finds him appealing, his slightness a contrast to Arthur’s own built figure. Kieran’s hair is darker than Arthur’s, but it is thinner, and the trail of hair that leads from his belly button to his pubes are a light dusting in comparison to the healthy bushes Arthur has seen in his lifetime. His legs, lean and strong beneath his fair skin, are also only moderately covered in his pelage. His body would look spectacular pressed up against Arthur’s own, bare hands clutching at anything he can find as Arthur gives and takes in the most intimate way he knows how…

“Beautiful,” the cowboy breathes, wiggling his fingers out of his gloves.

He throws them to the side, uncaring of where they go. Arthur’s attention is fixed on Kieran and Kieran alone, hypnotized by the man that stands nude. He wants to touch, so touch he will.

“Don’t move,” he whispers when Kieran flinches away.

He reaches out, trailing two fingers just beneath Kieran’s beard, feeling where his jaw is. It is more delicate than Arthur had originally thought, but still strong enough that he can grab his chin and make Kieran look at him.

Then, he dips lower, sliding down the line of the man’s throat. He circles the bump of Kieran’s Adam’s apple, pressing along the sides of it. It causes Kieran to whimper, so hesitant that Arthur might have not heard it if the crickets were chirping outside. He traces collarbones next, following the left one to Kieran’s shoulder, then back and south again, until he stops at the man’s folded arms.

“Arthur,” Kieran tries, but Arthur will want what he desires.

“Uncross your arms.”

Although the man is reluctant, Kieran frees his chest, allowing his arms to swing freely back to his sides. He hisses at the air that hits his nipples. Arthur echoes that hiss, seeing how the two rosy buds pebble in the cool air around them. He wants so much to put his mouth around them, make Kieran squeal, but he will not. Not tonight, at least. That will be for another time, when Arthur can fully indulge in Kieran’s body without huge potential of being caught for being too loud. He is just glad his tent is more out of the way than others.

With piqued interest, Arthur carefully rolls Kieran’s nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, observing the man’s reaction. Kieran jerks in Arthur’s hold, noises getting caught in his pharynx until they are jammed together and come out as one, nonsensical garble. His thighs quiver, and he squirms in place.

Though his knees and legs are together, his thighs barely touch, Arthur finds as he looks down. Pinching Kieran’s chest again, he smirks when Kieran lets out another muted cry. The titchy cock between his legs beginning to swell and awaken.

“You’re sensitive,” Arthur comments before he can stop himself. He puts his lips to Kieran’s ear so he can suck at an earlobe. He hears the man keen as he does. “Let me have this, boy.”

Kieran neither protests or agrees with Arthur, but he does stay still while Arthur releases his nipples in favor of exploring further.

The man quakes positively _everywhere_ as Arthur touches him with bare hands. He presses his legs together, as though to squeeze his balls and let out some of the sensation he feels when Arthur kneels, sucking sloppy kisses over his ribs and stomach. Kieran’s cock grows, standing proud even when its owner does not.

It is so pretty, Arthur thinks, such an angry red color towards the tip. He can tell Kieran has been circumcised, either for hygiene or religious reason. Arthur wades further, kissing the narrow vee of Kieran’s hips, and is assaulted by the near overpowering musk that wafts from Kieran’s aroused source.

Arthur has never thought himself to be so primal, but perhaps Kieran has unleashed something inside him; he cannot get enough of Kieran’s scent. The man smells like earthy-sweet pheromones, like the German milk and rice pudding Strauss made one time for the entire camp. A hint of herbal medicine is in the mix somewhere but, instead of deterring Arthur, it drags him in further. He loves this scent. He loves the way Kieran’s very skin trembles as he kisses it firmly.

Suddenly, he wants to put that musk, that smell, that _flavor_ into his mouth and hold it there until he is done savoring it. He wants to taste Kieran, cram him down and suck it in until Kieran begs for him to… to..

“Sir, please,” Kieran is already saying, and that is when Arthur notices that he had drifted off in thought, gnawing tulip and lilac bruises that bloom deeper in hue with each passing minute. “What are you doin’?”

Arthur does not reply verbally though, opting to go in for the kill. Even without his chewing tobacco, he feels like he has zoned in on Kieran’s cock. It could be the beer, still swimming around in his body, but he does not care to know at this very second. He grips Kieran’s member in his hand, feeling its light weight and warmth. Then, he is stroking upwards, just to test how it makes Kieran feel.

Back arching, Kieran’s hand flies to his mouth, attempting to keep his cry from being too loud. His cock weeps clear fluid at the tip, pulsing erotically in Arthur’s palm. It makes him pant, head tilted down so he can see just what Arthur is doing down there.

It catches him off guard when Arthur sticks out his tongue, experimentally licking over the slit of his erection. A yelp manages to escape from between his fingers, and he shimmies back, only for the back of knees to hit the edge of Arthur’s cot. Losing his balance, Kieran goes tumbling back, his head missing the wagon the bed is pressed up against by only an inch. He lands with a thud.

Arthur shakes his head at Kieran’s flailing, doing nothing to stop the man from falling backwards and onto the cot. In this case, he figures, it might be better to take Kieran into his mouth this way.

On his knees, he scoots closer, hands flat on Kieran’s pelvis to keep him pinned down.

“Arthur,” mutters Kieran.

There is a wildness in his lake green irises, less frightened and more excited for what is to come. Arthur has only done this a handful of times with other men, so he cannot guarantee he is any good at it. Still, Kieran looks like he is at full mast, on the brink of passing out when Arthur puts his mouth back on him.

“Don’t faint on me, Kieran,” he chuckles, already resuming what he had been doing earlier.

Kieran would ululate, if not for the fact that there are others are in camp, dreaming of robbing trains and picking fights with the next town’s deputies. He tilts his head back, clamping his lips shut as best as he possibly can. The muscles in his abdomen clench when Arthur finds the sensitive underside of his cock, and a tiny mewl escapes from his throat, much to his dismay.

“Shhh,”

Arthur leans back, admiring the sight of Kieran, disheveled and hard as a rock. He tastes so goddamn exquisite, and smells just as rich. The cowboy circles the head of Kieran’s cock with his tongue, licking downward to suck it into his hot cavern. More precum spills over his taste buds, and he revels in the taste.

Bobbing his head, Arthur takes more of the man’s girth into his throat, widening his lips and relaxing his epiglottis so he may take the whole of Kieran’s cock. Kieran lurches into his grasp when one of his hands come out to play with his balls, rolling them in their sac gently as Arthur goes up and down along his length.

Kieran moans into the brisk air around them, pursing his lips together to dampen the sound. How Arthur is so good at this, he does not know, but the man has no right to be complaining. Far from it, actually; Arthur’s mouth feels like molten ecstasy on his cock. He swallows it until there is no more to be stuffed in and, with Kieran’s balls being fondled at the same time, the man is not going to last much longer.

“Wait, wait,” Kieran cries a bit too loudly. He stifles a whine that threatens to rise from his chest. “Arthur, please, wait.”

To his luck, Arthur lets up from his dick. Kieran squirms when his cock is released, wet and cold when not in the cowboy’s heavenly mouth.

“What is it, boy? Not enough for you?” Arthur teases, still rolling Kieran’s balls in his palm.

Shaking his head, Kieran replies, “Too much…” he trails off. “I thought I was supposed to repay you.”

Arthur fights a frown off his face when he is reminded that, to Kieran, he sees this nothing more than paying a debt. He guesses he better move on, instead of dwelling in his kindling infatuation.

Grabbing the belt off the bed, he says, “Give me your hands.”

Kieran looks like his eyeballs are about to bug out of his skull.

“What… what’re you gonna to me?” he has the nerve to ask.

This time, Arthur allows himself to convey emotion on his face. “D’you really think you can just pop trivia on me, boy?”

“I’m sorry, mister,” Kieran is quick to apologize. “It won’t happen again.”

“Damn right it won’t,” The cowboy retorts, clutching Kieran’s forearms together so he can wrap the belt around it.

He bunches the leather into a neat tie, tight enough where Kieran has his arms bound in the front but still can grab hold of something if he wishes.

“You seem to really like being bound up,” Arthur comments. “Don’t you, Kieran?”

Kieran shakes his head, but he cannot deny that he feels his skin prickle with strange sensation as the material of Arthur’s belt bites pleasantly into his skin.

“Ye’re wrong. I don’t like it,” he lies.

“Uh-huh,” Arthur takes a moment to appreciate his handiwork before throwing the man’s legs over his shoulders.

“Whoa,” Kieran yips, but it divulges into a long, low moan when Arthur slips a finger over his puckered entrance.

“That’s a mighty fine ass ya got right here.” Arthur keeps talking, “I wonder what it’d feel like ‘round my cock.”

Kieran trembles at the thought. What would it be like to take Arthur into his body, into an orifice not necessarily made for penetration? Kieran has only ever done it twice to himself, with his fingers no less, out of the spirit of inquiry. It had felt strange, not painful when he got the hang of it, but not pleasurable either. He cannot fathom how it would feel good for him and Arthur by using his hole tonight.

Before he knows it, he’s begging, “Oh, no. Arthur, please. Anything but that. I can’t,”

“But you _can_ ,” Arthur rubs over Kieran’s entrance again with a little more pressure, grinning like a coyote when the man soughs at the action. “How many men you been with, boy?”

“N-none, sir,” Kieran says, his neck and shoulders coloring ruddy. So pretty. So unused and perfect.

“Any women?”

Kieran turns his face. “No.”

Arthur quirks an eyebrow at him. “Then you ain’t never felt good with a person before,” he states like he is talking about the weather, and not Kieran’s lack of sex life. Before Kieran can open his mouth, Arthur smiles, “It’s time to change that, boy. I’ll do the honors an’ be your first real man.”

“Arthur…” Kieran manages.

The cowboy sticks two meaty digits to his chapped lips then, wiggling them in front of Kieran’s partially opened mouth.

“If you don’t want to break, ya better start suckin’,” he says.

And who is Kieran to defy Arthur? Reluctantly, the ex O’Driscoll wrap his lips around Arthur’s fingertips. He sucks them in slowly, setting them with his saliva while he keeps his eyes on the cowboy above him. His tongue circles the rough calluses upon Arthur’s fingertips, sucking on their sides when Arthur begins to plunge them in and out.

His eyelids slide closed as he continues to coat two, three, then four of Arthur’s fingers with copious amounts of his spit. It is automatic, like Kieran was meant to do this his entire life, enjoy it for what it is worth, when before he had never known something like this before.

Arthur’s jaw squares as he observes the way Kieran suctions around his fingers. He looks like a natural, like he had done with before, but claims he never has. His cock surges within his pants and, not for the first time tonight, it strains at the button, aching for some sort of relief.

He needs Kieran, and he cannot wait much longer.

Pulling his hand away, he decides he has gathered enough slick, and directs his gaze down at Kieran’s waiting entrance. How tight it will be around Arthur, when he finally sinks in? He can only imagine as he wads up his own saliva, spitting it smack-dab at Kieran’s hole. It lands with a splat over that fueled passage, so clear that it glistens in the dark of the tent.

Then, Arthur poses his hand at Kieran’s lifted ass, his pointer finger starting to breach the man’s waiting hole.

And, boy, is it _tight_ in there. Arthur has to stop himself from moaning outright.

Kieran is like a vice inside, his muscles cinching together each time he delves his finger inward. He drags it slowly, feeling those lovely, velveteen walls up and down. Arthur checks Kieran’s face, but Kieran takes his finger like a champ, keeping his breathing steady when Arthur inserts a second one.

He uses the same procedure as he did with just a lone digit until Kieran’s hole starts to relax, accept the slight stretch. Then, Arthur whips out another technique; without fumbling, he begins to scissor his two fingers within Kieran.

Only then does Kieran gasp, obviously not expecting the cowboy to do such a thing. It is like he is being pulled apart from the inside-out and, in a sense, that is exactly what is happening. He curls his toes inward, his inhales and exhales becoming shallower, more rapid when Arthur presses his fingers up to the last knuckle.

When the third one comes, Kieran feels the burn of his rim stretching. He tries to keep down his yowl, but to no avail. The pressure in his passage is too great and, when Arthur jabs his fingertips forward, angling it up, it feels as though his body sets aflame. He looks up at the cowboy, absolutely mortified that he elicited that big a noise, but Arthur just grinds back.

“There it is,” he announces.

He stabs at that same spot again, causing Kieran’s back to arch off the cot in the most sensual of ways. The man digs his heels into Arthur’s scapulas, looking bewildered and beautiful.

“You know what that little bundle in you is?” Arthur asks. He is not surprised when Kieran shakes his head no. “That’s what’s gonna make you feel real good. Gonna make you beg and scream for more, an’ wake up the entire camp with your cryin’. It’s called your sweet spot.”

“I ain’t gonna wake up the cam— ahh,” Kieran ruts his hips back when Arthur rubs against his sweet spot again, this time more firmly. It is a reflexive response, and it only serves to set Kieran’s blood on fire with lust and desire.

Arthur huffs a little laugh. “Looks like you’re ready, boy.” He licks his lips, dislodging his fingers from Kieran’s wanting body. “I’m done being a gentleman an’ waitin’ to have you.”

It has been long enough time for Arthur’s head to clear up some from the alcohol; he finds himself able to focus, shoving down his pants quickly in order to get on with the action. His member pulsates in response to air exposure, stone hard and ready to go. He lines up thereafter, with his hard rod of a cock being held steady as he leans down, bending Kieran nearly in two.

“Kieran,” he mumbles the ex O’Driscoll’s name, and then he is thrusting in.

In, and in, and deeper still he goes.

Arthur does not stop his journey into Kieran until his length is fully sheathed within the man’s body. Everything is so much tighter and hotter than what he felt before, the inner temperature wrapping around his cock like a blanket of lava. He feels like he is melting, though he has barely even started fucking Kieran. He just feels _that good_.

Kieran, on the other hand, feels like he is being split in two. Arthur is larger than his three, thick fingers by a long shot. The cowboy slides into Kieran until his member is fully seated, but Kieran can hardly stand it. He scrunches up his face at the pain, the whine building in his throat also releasing into the night. It’s as if his control is slipping; the gasket to keep his voice down broken when Arthur slipped his cock in.

It stretches him so wide, almost three times as big as he was with Arthur’s fingers. Kieran cannot bear just sitting here, adjusting to the enormous girth; it aches too much for him to do so. His hips undulate beneath Arthur’s, wheezing when the friction causes a bolt of liquid lighting pleasure run up his spine.

“Oh god,” he sibilates, repeating the action. He unfurls his toes, this time flexing them to relieve some tension.

“Shh,” shushes Arthur, reaching down to pet Kieran’s sides.

Slowly, so slowly, he begins to move. The cowboy draws back, almost all the way out of Kieran until only the head of his giant cock remains. Then, he thrusts back in, slamming his member down until his balls slap the man’s fucked open ass. He does it again, and again, finally gaining a rhythm. Arthur does not need to look down at Kieran to know how it makes him feel. The cries his dick punches out of the man, with each thrust, is enough to judge upon.

“Arthur, oh, please,” Kieran moans aloud.

Pain is still present, but the purchase he gets out of Arthur thrusting into him makes the sting of being penetrated ebb into a thing called pleasure. He ruts back, wanting to feel more, more, more. His head is beginning to cloud with whirls of ecstatic smoke and fog. He is drawn to Arthur’s deep ocean eyes, transfixed in their blueness.

He does not even notice that he is growing louder and louder with each thrust.

It brings him to the surface of consciousness when he feels a rough, warm hand slap over his open mouth and nose.

Arthur holds him, bends him in half, and muffles Kieran with that lovely hand of his.

“Told ya, you were gonna wake up the whole camp.” He looks smug. “You take my manhood so well, boy. Wish I could drag you to a hotel and fuck you proper. Wish we could go out to a cabin and make it ours an’ have enough privacy so I could hear all those little whimpers you got stored up in you. You’d be welcome to scream as I plowed your hole; rode my dick until you fall over. But I’d mount you like a horse and _keep fucking you_ , ‘cause we ain’t over yet until I say we’s over.”

Arthur growls low and harsh into Kieran’s ear, his hips bucking like a beast’s into the man below him.

Tears, hot and watery, fall from Kieran’s sea green eyes and roll down his cheeks when Arthur finds just the right angle, thrusting down into it with a precision that keeps Kieran reeling for more. He is flat on his back, legs suspended over Arthur’s large shoulders with his ass connected with Arthur’s cock and groin.

And, oh Lord, forgive him. It feels extraordinary, so good that Kieran finds himself drooling over that hand over the lower half of his face. His body bunches and flexes in random increments as Arthur keeps fucking him. His lungs scorch as he forgets how to breath, no thanks to Arthur’s palm blocking his nose.

He coughs and shudders when he finally runs out of breath.

That seems to get Arthur’s attention, and the cowboy lets go of his face for a quick second, allowing him to gulp in much needed air, before he is on Kieran again.

Strong, masculine fingers encircle Kieran’s throat, pressing, pressing until Kieran chokes. More tears streak his cheeks, dropping into the cot sheets that he lies on, but he cannot seem to care. It hurts, but it feels absolutely amazing at the same time. Kieran feels like he is going to die, but from pleasure and want and need…

He is not expecting Arthur to lean closer and kiss away the salty tears that drip from his eyes like a running faucet. His tongue grazes Kieran’s soft, brown lashes, kissing the trail of tears down the slope of his cheek, to his scraggly beard, and finally on his lips.

They kiss; kiss sloppily with abandon, but it pairs fantastically with the heat of their intercourse. Kieran tastes like smoke and cigarettes, and sweet cream that is meant to top a cake. If Arthur thinks about it, this is the first time they’ve kissed tonight, and the man is a decent kisser.

“Kieran,” Arthur murmurs, piledriving more, deeper and faster in pace.

He lets go of Kieran’s throat, taking Kieran’s neglected cock instead and jerking it to the time of his thrusts.

Out of the corner of his vision, Kieran can see there is an uncovered slit between the privacy drapes Arthur had pulled down. A figure stands behind it, a dark brown eye staring at Arthur’s and his coupling. But perhaps it is just Kieran’s imagination, because he is so high off his rocker from the oxygen deprivation mixed with his sweet spot being abused from every cant of Arthur’s hips.

“Ah, fuck,” Arthur groans, heavy eyebrows stitching together.

He is close, but he will not come until he makes Kieran first. He speeds up his strokes that he delivers unto Kieran’s weeping dick, jacking him hard, hard, harder until Kieran’s voice is hitching. How Kieran is a natural at this; feels better than anyone Arthur has had before. Even the shape of his cock fits perfectly in Arthur’s palm.

“I— I..!” Kieran wails, but he cannot seem to articulate the message he so wants to convey.

Arthur teases, “C’mon, boy. Don’t tell me you’ve never shot your load before.”

Sure, it is a mean statement, but Arthur knows it affects Kieran in the most sexual of ways. The man throws back his head, gasping like a fish out of water. Arthur strokes him faster.

“Go ‘head, Kieran.” He delivers his blow, “Come for your mister. Show me how well you do it.”

Like a tidal wave, Kieran’s orgasm crashes down on him. His eyes, unseeing, roll the the back of their sockets, eyelids fluttering rapidly like a butterfly does its wings. His abdomen caves and his chest juts out as his body shakes with the force of finding ecstasy. Kieran spews line upon line of hot seed over Arthur’s fist, as well as his own stomach. His ass tightens, spasms and grips Arthur’s cock with so much force, almost as if his entrance is trying to milk Arthur of his life force.

“Arthurrr,” Kieran moans, desperate and broken. “Arthur, please,”

That is the last straw for Arthur Morgan.

The cowboy lurches, teeth finding the juncture of Kieran’s neck as he slams into the man. The coil in his belly unravels and he spills, comes so hard into Kieran’s tight, squeezing hole; his world being rocked by the force of his orgasm. All Arthur can do is hold on, with his arms and cock and his teeth biting into the Kieran’s not-so-yielding flesh. It is like someone has stuffed cotton into his ears, made him go deaf to everything in the world except Kieran. He matches his breathing with Kieran’s softer one, still floating down from his high seat in cloud nine. His body slumps over the ex O’Driscoll’s, dick still lodged neatly within Kieran’s taut passage.

They lie there in the cooldown, Kieran’s hands still bound together and useless as he attempts to pet Arthur’s hair. It is a sweet, gentle gesture, one that Arthur would never have thought to like, but Kieran does it in a way that soothes him post-orgasm.

“You can come out now, Charles,” Arthur says after a while, shocking Kieran out of the afterglow daze.

“Charles..?” He says, confused at first, then realizes that the brown eye, the figure standing use outside the tent… Charles was _spying_ on them.

Kieran’s face, if it was not already pink with exertion, would have turned cherry at the fact Charles became their Peeping Tom.

Charles, presumably, does not enter Arthur’s tent, instead saying, “I just wanted to check up what the noise was.”

Arthur chuckles, not even moving from his continual embrace with Kieran as he replies, “Yeah, yeah. Just make sure to clean up, if you’re done. I don’t want no one seein’ any stains ‘round the front of my abode.”

“Already on it,” Charles calls. There is a scuffling of dirt, Charles’ boot kicking it up to cover… well, whatever he has done outside. “Have a good night, gentlemen.”

Arthur laughs, turning back to Kieran, who has the most perturbed look on his face. He cannot believe they were actually caught, let alone watched in the act. He wants to scream, but not from pleasure.

“Aw, boy, don’t look at me like that,” Arthur says. “Charles won’t tell no one.”

Kieran hisses when Arthur lets him down and slides out, already feeling empty and strange as the cowboy’s spunk seeps from his body. He cups a hand around his hole, trying to catch it, earning another smile from Arthur.

“That was some repayment. You looked like you done enjoyed it, too,” he says, not bothering to tuck his cock back into his pants as he searches for a rag. When he does, Arthur wets it with some water still in a spare canteen lying around. “Did you enjoy it, Kieran?”

Does Kieran really have to answer? The man hides his face in embarrassment, one eye uncovered so he can see Arthur. Oh the gorgeous man Arthur.

“Y-yes,” he pipes.

“Just yes?” Arthur bats Kieran’s hands away from his ass so he can clean he leaking cum.

Kieran’s entrance is puffy and red, and Arthur can tell Kieran will be sore and hurting come morning. Still, he wipes it as best as he can in the dark, his eyes having adjusted enough to the low lighting. Then, he unties Kieran, letting the belt down onto the floor. He will pick it up later.

“Yes, sir,” Kieran corrects himself. “I… I liked it.”

Arthur likes when Kieran calls him sir, the way he treats Arthur like he has authority. The way he stares up into Arthur’s eyes with fright and admiration. The way he kisses back when Arthur presses his lips chastely to the man’s. Even now, as Arthur feels he is sober, he cannot deny that the ex O’Driscoll has something going for him, and he wishes to have another night, another stolen moment, with Kieran in the near future.

“So does that mean I can invite Charles next time?” he jokes, just to see Kieran squirm uncomfortably again. “I’m just messin’ with ya,” Arthur kisses him once more. “You’re mine, boy. I ain’t done with you yet.”

“I’m not?” Kieran asks, but he does not seem as though he is complaining.

Arthur tosses the used rag to a corner of the tent. He snuggles up against Kieran’s naked form, pulling up the covers over both of them for the night.

“Not for a long while, boy,” he mutters into Kieran’s soft, brown hair. “Not for a long while.”

So, is Kieran cute, his mind supplies just before he drifts off to sleep. Kieran cuddled into his chest, already lost to the dreams that haunt his pretty head.

Yeah. Yeah, Kieran Duffy is definitely cute, if Arthur says so himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Give kudos if you would peep like Charles, too.
> 
> Come talk to me on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/ra9ical/). I take fic requests there (see acc for more details).


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